


The Edge of Glass

by TheDevilOnioah



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Mirror's Edge, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Android AU, M/M, Spideypool - Freeform, Spideypool Bingo 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 10:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19439584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDevilOnioah/pseuds/TheDevilOnioah
Summary: Under the corporate run government that monitors all citizens and their online communications, Runners exist to deliver private, in person messages to the morally grey and defiant. Unnamed, except by his moniker of "Spider-Man", Peter Parker works night and day to run these messages to those who would help him overthrow the corrupted. Despite the personal feelings involved in his work, Peter finds himself more eager to return to base, where a war-made android waits for him.A fluffy, smutty, look into what Peter comes home to.(Inspired by and loosely based on the game series Mirror's Edge, but no knowledge of the games is needed.)





	The Edge of Glass

**Author's Note:**

> This fic fills my Android AU square for the Spideypool Bingo (2019)! It's loosely based off of the game series Mirror's Edge, but there is no actual gameplay or story references, so you don't need to know anything about it. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Thank you to TimidTurnip for beta-ing~<3

The Tower of Avengers is a glass monstrosity that sits on the west side of the city. From the ground it would seem impossible that anyone could climb it. Each floor is a ring of windows almost twelve feet high, too tall to grasp the panes end to end.

Peter looks up at the rooftop from where he’s crouched, patiently waiting as a helicopter marked with a police insignia passes by. He’s covered by several layers of piping on top of a high rise apartment so he’s hidden well enough. But he also has to reach the roof by three in the morning to make the deadline. The organization is counting on his connection to the billionaire weapon manufacturer turned philanthropist, Anthony Stark, better known as Tony.

Peter peaks out from his cover to survey the skies, his only real enemy now a days. When he was too inexperienced to be trusted with the organization's technology he had scaled building with nothing but the grip of his fingers and the friction of his feet. His ability to scale walls as smoothly, and often faster, than those with tools had earned him the name of Spider-Man. And with a name, came an ID to connect the technology with.

He makes sure he has a running start. Backing up to the edge behind him Peter rolls his shoulders and starts forward at an even pace. The last few feet he sprints, letting his feet hit the ground as loud as they need to get the momentum. The jump from ground to air feels like home. His stomach drops and his heart is in his throat but it’s all sensations normalized by time. The jump upward has him floating halfway across the distance, but he doesn’t let himself fall too far before he flicks out his right wrist and a line of white, glistening thread shoots out, attaching itself to the tower.

The line straightens, pulls, and he’s yanked across the gap. His feet hit the glass and he rolls his wrists forward, sticking to the pane without noise. He doesn’t hesitate. One limb at a time he grips the vertical surface and climbs.

He shoes are more like reinforced socks, minimal padding and skin tight, the bottoms are covered in a formula of his own making. His pride and joy, his “web” formula was what almost got him into the only university on the east coast, until its sponsor, Norman Osborn, destroyed that dream.

His gloves aren’t coated in his formula but they do have a spider web design made of material that clings to almost any surface. If that fails he always his own fingers to rely on. Most buildings in the city are sleek, polished towers, but he can find the smallest of crevices and hold more than his own bodyweight on the tips of his fingers. Those thin strips that separate each pane of glass create a bump that’s just enough for him to grab. Despite all the new upgrades having an electronic ID grants him, the technology is limited to his abilities.

Finally, as his timer beeps a five minute warning, he reaches the top of Avengers’ Tower. Happy Hogan, dressed in his usual two piece suit and smoking a pen, is staring at him with barely concealed annoyance.

“You’re late,” he says.

“Just on time, actually,” Peter shoots back.

Runners aren’t supposed to talk of course, other than to their clients and informants. But Peter has never been able to resist talking back, and his informant is probably the one who encourages it.

Peter walks past the helipad, eyes still flitting around for drones or cameras. Weasel always assures him that no footage is left, but Runners exist because there is no such thing as privacy anymore. Happy holds out a small prism, rectangular in shape and lit up with soft golden lights. Engraved on the top is the stylized letter Avengers symbol. Tony’s never been one for subtle.

“Well, that’s going to make this a hell of a lot harder to cover up if this gets in the wrong hands.” Peter sighs, securing the drive into a hidden pocket.

Happy straightens up, turning into the two hundred and forty bodyguard he was hired to be, “You plan on losing that?”

“I wouldn’t be doing this job if I was, now would I?” Irritation slips through and he decides it’s time to take his leave.

He taps the center of the inside of his arm, lighting up the invisible lines tattooed from his elbow to his wrist a bright red. His fingerprint is scanned, the lines turning a friendlier blue, and he’s able to reset his timer, pinging his location to his informant who’s probably besides himself with worry.

As he turns to leave Happy calls out, “Tony sends his regards, Spider-Man.”

Peter simply nods. The words are bittersweet coming from his old mentor. He can’t dwell on the past now; he still has a job to complete.

He lands on the same roof he used to get up the tower, but breaking routine is important for any Runner looking to not get caught. It only takes a few extra cameras or one lazy decision to end up with a horde of security chasing you down. Some runners took advantage of crowds to hide their identity, but those are people who have homes to get back to. So, Peter prefers to stay hidden.

Past the roof, he swings across a large gap, rolling onto the balcony of a business building. Sprinting at a medium pace he keeps an eye out for loose ends. A drone hovering from the otherside of a quad, or a run in with a tattle tale could all spell disaster. This is where the organization’s tech comes into play. He drags two fingers down the back of his neck, briefly lighting up more lines that criss cross all over his body, immediately his senses are flooded with stimuli. The sensation is a combination of feel and sight. As he’s using a water pipe to scale onto a higher tower, a tingle shoots down his back, while at the same time, his left field of vision blurs. The sense of wrong bad danger used to overwhelm him, but now he just follows it blindly. 

Peter jumps off the pipe, landing on a grate that skirts the building’s perimeter. He follows it half way before using his web fluid to cross another gap. His looks back long enough to see a gathering of business execs milling around the rooftop. The blur in Peter’s vision reduces them to grayscale blobs before fading.

On and on he goes, taking back roads and even moving through buildings when his Spider sense warns him. A few times he runs into people who don’t cloud his vision. Some just subtly nod to him. Others wave at him and call for a Runner. He doesn’t stop but he quickly swipes his forearm, sending their location back to base.

He reaches it just before dawn. Shiny white towers block out the sun, but he sees the clouds beginning to turn pink. Before heading inside he holds a finger just under his left eye and sends the photo to his personal database.

Inside of a small electrical powerhouse is a vent large enough for a child to jump in, and it’s in this vent that Peter is crouched, making his way with as much dignity as possible, to the organization’s base.

The ventilation shaft angles down and doesn’t stop until it reaches an old subway system that is filled with rats and criminals. Not that Peter could turn up his nose, he’s one of those criminals after all. A grate in the side of the shaft swings open and he hops out onto a suspiciously clean pathway. Some runners were sent out to make false tracks in the system, but mostly that was taken care of by the numerous other secret inhabitants.

He doesn’t need to walk far before unlocking and entering a maintenance room. The second he’s inside it’s as if he never left the surface. Clean white walls and a steel vault door are the only things in the room. Not unlike the object he has hidden in his pocket, the vault has lines of glass branching off to form a vague triangular shape.

He pulls up his wrist screen first, dialing in his ID and connecting it to the servers so that his location is revealed. Like a cloak coming off him, the lines that had only briefly lit up before are now suffused with a bright green. The door responds with the identical color and for a second he is bathed in golden shadows. When he’s been properly identified as a resident, both the vault and his lines darken as the door slides away and off to the side.

He steps through, wincing in phantom pain as the doorway pulls the upgrades from his being. He’s left as a normal person, the Spider-Man persona being secreted away to stay in a server like a surreal version of high school lockers.

The tunnel he walks through now is only as big as the door, but there are quite a few people milling around at its entrance.

“Is there a team going out?” Peter asks a white haired woman that stands more than a foot above him.

“Not me!” her voice is heavily accented and exceptionally cheerful, “But there’s been a big boom in clients. Holidays, you know how it is!”

“Ah, of course,” he agrees, even though he doesn’t really know how it is.

He supposes that if he had a family to talk to it would be nice to not have to worry about his casual conversations being nitpicked for terrorist suspicions. It isn’t like Peter doesn’t talk to other people, but all of them are in the organization, so they’re just as secretive and paranoid as him.

He slips past a few coworkers that look like they want to talk to him and makes it into the main room. From floor to ceiling, giant chunks of historic machinery are being used as sitting lounges. There’s still plenty of space to move around though. Based on his research into corrupted history data he could make a guess that this used to be a factory warehouse. Of what products, he has no idea. 

Mixed in between are giant servers, ten feet tall and chill to the touch. He presses his knuckles to their aluminum outline as he passes each one. Their touch makes him shiver and fills him with a subtle warmth at the same time.

The workshop that he enters is cluttered with spare parts. In truth, it’s more of a huge spare closet than a place to work, and most people treat it as such. It’s not abandoned, but no one enters unless they absolutely need something from the room. Part of the reason is the clutter itself. It’s not uncommon for people to trip over prosthetic limbs or get lost behind mazes of gutted machines. 

The other reason would be its inhabitant. His informant, a military designed android gone rogue. Wade Wilson, most commonly referred to as Deadpool.

Peter makes his way through the workshop with the same ease that he entered the base with. The pathways are memorized by practice, because he’s one of the few Runners under Wade’s tutelage that actually meets with him. Coming to a cleared area, he sees another Runner that is willing to brave the workshop. Domino has her feet kicked up on a large wooden table with a hovering screen in front of her. A bright lamp that sits on the edge of the table back lights her, and Peter is struck with the image of a fearless street cat, lounging in the sun.

Groaning in annoyance, he picks his way to her if only because trying to go around would take ages. She’s already looking at him with mismatched eyes and a smirk.

“I guess I better clear out pretty quickly, huh?” Domino calls to him, as he’s still several yards away fighting with some cables wrapped around his feet.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, willing his blush away, “It’s not like that!”

Domino only hums and turns back to her screen, which is streaming a Will and Grace reboot. When he’s past her, glad that the teasing was minimal today, he looks back where the lamp now makes her skin shiny. Domino leans her head back and yawns, eyes glowing from the reflection. Goddammit, she’s just as attractive when she’s yawning.

From the work table it’s only a short walk before he’s reached a metal door, painted to resemble a bedroom door. Excessive taping holds a sign onto it which reads:

PRIVATE PROPERTY  
NO TRESPASSERS ALLOWED

Which Peter thinks is very redundant considering a trespasser only exists if that person is on property they’re not allowed to be on.

He pushes open the door, giving it an extra shove because it gets stuck on its hinges halfway through. As much of a pain in the ass as it is, the door was purposefully meddled with so that it not only got stuck, but creaked loudly as it swung open. Immediately, there’s an answering shriek from inside the room.

“Ever heard of knocking, dipshit! I’m exposed in here!” Wade whirls around in his chair. True to his word, his torso and a section on his back are flipped open to reveal the exposed circuitry underneath. Nothing but a pair of boxers cover the patchwork of metal and bits of human skin.

His eyes are cruel and angry for only a second, then he sees Peter in the doorway.

“I would have thought you’d have seen my location.” Peter explains, even though they both know he enters Wade’s room whenever he wants.

Wade fiddles with a nodule on his innards, “Nah, I saw your client alert, but it’s not like I keep constant tabs on you.”

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do as my informant?” Peter delivers the line with crisp efficiency. He’s neither angry nor pleased.

The nodule Wade is twisting suddenly pops off, “It’s not like we have the most professional of relationships, Peter.”

Peter bites his lip quickly, sucking it in and running it through his teeth until it’s back in place, red with irritation. A glance out the door shows no signs of anyone, and without his upgrades on he can’t sense hidden eavesdroppers. He pushes the door closed, wincing at the noise as he does.

“You’ve got to fix that.”

“Strategic advantage!” Wade whines.

Peter strides over to him, plucking the nodule from him and kneeling to twist it back into place. The circuitry is mostly wireless, an ode to its age of development. Wade isn’t that old, but he’s certainly not young either.

“Anyone in the workshop can hear when I get up in the morning,” Peter says simply.

Wade looks down where Peter is now tracing a pattern along the transistors, “That bothers you?”

Peter’s head snaps up to meet Wade’s eyes. There’s no pupil or iris, just an empty white sclera, “No! Well, yes, but not like that. It’s just… I’m not used to all the teasing. They’re all friendly enough, but it just makes me uncomfortable when they talk about you like you’re-.” He snaps his mouth shut.

“It’s okay, baby boy. I know what they say about me.” Wade smiles with his usual self deprecating humor, but Peter’s known him too long to be satisfied with that.

“Then, I don’t understand how you handle it.”

Wade shrugs, picking up the screws from his side table that lock his main torso plate in place, “When you hear the same joke from every motherfucker who comes in here thinking they’re tough shit, you get used to it.”

Peter sits back on his heels to let Wade work the screws into place, biting his lip as he does so. He feels somewhat responsible considering that he’s the one that had demanded that Wade stop acting like the violent war machine he was made to be. He’d been horrified when he came back one evening to a completely passive and smiling Wade. The idiot had decided that not constantly starting bloodbaths meant being totally pacifistic and had rewired a huge section of his CPU to no longer react.

Wade’s whole system was designed to be unkillable and it had only taken a few reboots and some new wires to bring him back to his usual self, but Peter was so beside himself that he could only watch Domino and Weasel work to repair him. When Wade came back online, Peter had yelled and cursed and cried and when his throat was too sore to whisper he had wanted to scream even more. But Wade only stared at him sadly and asked why he was changed back.

Some days Wade still didn’t seem totally convinced that his intelligence system could learn to be more peaceful, but unfortunately he has good reason for that thought. Moodswings, impulsive decision making, and terrible executive function were just a few of the problems that Wade suffered from on a daily basis.

“The point is, you’re not supposed to get used to it.” When Wade only gives a noncommittal grunt Peter decides to switch tactics.

He grabs hold of Wade’s hand, lifting the fingers just so he can hear the gears click. He places the hand back to help hold the torso plate in place, waiting until Wade has every screw tightened.  
“How do you think I feel?” Peter asks tenderly, “When I hear people say these nasty things about you, and my only options are to not speak with them or punch them in the gut?”

Wade’s sobered face suddenly lights up with laughter. Peter’s heart thumps with every guffaw and he thinks that this is how Wade’s face should look every day.

“Oh, my manic little spider boy,” Wade smiles down at him.

“Spider-man.” He corrects.

Wade puts his face in his hands and his elbows on his knees, blank eyes crinkled in adoration, “I love when you fight for me, baby boy. I really do. I like seeing you get all riled up,” he gives a knowing smirk at Peter’s blush, “But there are only a handful of people in this organization that I actually give a fuck about, and number one is you.”

Peter can’t concentrate enough to say what he wants to. Not when Wade is speaking to him with that tone. It seems to get lower with each word, until it’s almost nothing but a deep metallic grind. Peter stands up and paces to the side wall, where the rotating closets of equipment now sit idle. It’s purely for some breathing distance, but it may or may not hide the tent in Peter’s loose pants.

“Promise me that if anyone ever goes too far, even if it’s Weasel or Domino or Wolvie, that you’ll tell me. Promise me that you’ll stop believing what they say.”

Wade is silent in thought, eyes twitching all over Peter as if to search for the punchline. Sometimes it still hurts Peter to know that Wade doubts him. That’s not true though, not really. Wade does trust him. He wouldn’t struggle so much to find the right words unless he cared how they’d sound. Peter just doesn’t believe that Wade will ever fully recover from being broken so many times.

Wade concludes his brooding with a stubborn, “It doesn’t matter,” His voice much closer than before.

Peter decides it’s not worth arguing over. Right now, all he wants is to wrap himself up in bedsheets and wires until he falls asleep to the hum of Wade’s internal cooling fan.

He turns around to face Wade, which actually means that he’s eye level with Wade’s pecs. It isn’t like Wade grows, yet the height difference is always a little shocking. The large armored cables that make up his musculature and the random patches of skin are as familiar as the room he’s standing in, but the height always takes his breath away.

Unfolding his crossed arms, Peter reaches up and hooks his hands behind Wade’s neck, stretching his whole body like a cat. The heat coming off Wade’s body is always tempting, calling Peter to rub his face against it. It makes both of them embarrassed, but they both love it. Peter resists the siren’s call to tilt his chin up, gently asking Wade to consume his every worry.

And consume he does. Wade captures his lips and ravishes as slow and sure as a rising tide. When they’re both aglow with heady passion, they drift apart, as easily as they came together. 

“Your back panel’s open,” Peter husks into the side of Wade’s clavicle.

“It’s always- oh!” Peter can’t resist licking a strip up the flexible neck cords, “Open! Open for you.”

Pulling back, Peter slides his hands down to Wade’s unyielding chest. There’s no place on Wade that is sensitive in particular, but he processes pleasurable touches much more intensely than pain. Peter takes full advantage as he moves from his front to his back, running his hands along Wade as he goes.

“Stay still for me, big guy,” Peter traces a lazy pattern into the shoulder blade panel. A small door is open to reveal the updated circuit board, “Damn, that’s fine.”

Wade wiggles in pleasure at the words, but obediently keeps still while Peter pokes around. He traces the motherboard much like he did for his chest, feather light touches. He makes sure to check the position and quality of the board as he goes, it wouldn’t do to have any subpar equipment in his guy.

As minutes pass Wade becomes increasingly tense, shifting away and into the touches at random. Peter waits until he hears the smallest of whimpers from Wade before reaching in and gently pressing against the RAM unit. 

“Peter!” Wade wails, almost falling forward as he shudders, “You’re going to kill me, baby boy.”

Peter can barely keep in his own gasps as he presses his stiff cock into Wade’s backside. The answering groan causes his hips to buck forward. The pleasure is rapidly pooling in his abdomen. The heat coming from the both of them, though Wade’s warmth is a little more literal, itches under Peter’s clothes.

He moves around to Wade’s side, grinding into his hip and clutching the opposite side of his chest. Wade quirks an eyebrow in question as he reaches forward to tug at the drawstrings of Peter’s pants.

“Yes,” Peter breathes out, locked onto the pupiless eyes. He moves to help Wade in his endeavor but as he moves to pull off his pants, a hard object brushes against his fingers.  
Peter pulls it out without thought, holding out his palm.

“What is- oh, shit.” Peter scowls down at the drive. It had interrupted some very important business after all. 

Wade laughs delightedly at Peter’s wrinkled nose, “Forget something?”

Peter huffs and grumbles, “Shut up,” as he reluctantly pulls away from the embrace to plug the device into an adapter hub riddled with ports. 

The information didn’t have to be extracted immediately, but it was important stuff. There was intel on politician and police movement that would help many Runners avoid getting caught, not to mention all the encrypted info that Wade was supposed to extract for blueprints of buildings and machines alike. 

Peter rubs at his face as several interfaces pop up, informing him of his lack of authorization. The sound of moving chains jerks him out of his rest, and he glances over to the rotating shelves. Wade begins singing a tune as the back shelves move forward, smiling and giving an innocent wave when he sees Peter gaping at him.

“Seriously?” Peter sighs, “We’ve got to get at least some of this stuff into the central database before we can even think about that.”

“I’m just getting prepared! Don’t you want to pick it out beforehand so it’s ready?” Wade reaches the desired shelf and begins to unlock the trapdoors that cover each one.

Peter can’t help the rising blush as he tries to focus on the screens, but he keeps glancing over at Wade. He’s lifted all the panels to reveal several rows of colorful, modified toys. Most of them are dildos, some of them are sheaths, and there’s even a small collection of vibrators. On the top shelf are the ones that are too big or heavy to stand upright. Peter gulps at the sight of Zaratan, who he’d taken only once in a slow, drug induced haze. Wade is humming thoughtfully, tapping his chin as he looks over the options. 

Peter was about to ask about Mystic before he catches himself, shaking his head stubbornly and going back to the computers. He glances back just once, only once, to see Wade weighing two in his hands. He turns to Peter and grins wickedly when he catches his eye.

“What do you think, baby boy? It all depends on how you’re feeling tonight.”

Peter glares at the screen in front of him. It’s gone dark from inactivity. Heat presses against him before metal, and then Wade’s arms are wrapped around him from behind the chair. He has to bend in half to rest his chin Peter’s shoulder and mouth at his ear lobe. 

“Don’t… Wade, we have to work. This is,” he gasps softly as Wade’s smooth, panel feed tongue plays with his neck, “This is really…”

Wade bites down first on the joint of his shoulder and neck, then bites his way back up to Peter’s ear, humming softly.

“You know that’s not fair!” Peter complains. He’s never been able to resist the vibrations of Wade’s internal mechanisms.

Wade whimpers in response to Peter trying to sit up. He reaches down and deftly begins to stroke at the hard length filling Peter’s pants, and Peter falls right back down into the chair, cursing up a storm as he writhes.

There’s always a point where he gives in completely. Wade says that he melts like butter when he gets too overstimulated. Peter doesn’t know about that.

“We should stop. Right now.” Peter moans and lifts his hips. Wade wastes no time in pulling the pants down to Peter’s thighs.

“Yeah, let’s stop then,” Wade doesn’t seem concerned, which ticks Peter off, if he’s being honest. 

It ticks him off enough that he’s able to see through his lust induced haze and he pushes away. This time he’s tense enough that Wade moves out of his way easily, already checking him over for something wrong. 

“Alright. Can you start decoding some of this while I take a nap?” Peter says as he pulls his pants back up, tightening the drawstrings with the air of one donning armor.  
“W-wait! You can’t blueball a man like that, Petey!” 

Peter moves toward the bed, unconcerned with the whinging. He only turns back to give Wade a side eye.

“Bullshit.” Wade raises what would be an eyebrow, “I could leave you here all day with nothing and you’d still be begging for me when I came back home.”

He watches the eyes widen first, then the jaw click closed. Wade’s shoulders relax next, and the final touch is the little bow of submission as he shuffles over to the screens. Peter could watch him hunch over the keyboard all day. Too bad he has no intention of letting Wade even touch that chair.

“Get me your custom.”

Wade whirls around so fast Peter thinks he might do a three-sixty. He wiggles until he’s standing at full height again, “Really! Really, babe? Wait, seriously, Pete. Please tell me I’m not going back to the chair.”

“No chair. But, put your things away first,” Peter climbs up a small ladder onto the raised L shaped platform where all of Wade’s “human” things belong.  
He doesn’t need a bed, or clothes, or a dresser full of them, but it makes Wade happy. Peter hears a thud and then Wade rapidly slamming the panels closed and trying to lock them. He smiles at the frantic sounding keys.

Peter moves to the bed. Tucked away in a corner, with a sloping roof over it, the bed feels like a cozy den. He bounces on the edge when he sits, smoothing the rumbled quilt. He crawls up toward the pillows and moves the top blanket down, tossing his shirt off the side railing once he’s settled. He smiles at the sound of a pained groan below and decides to torture Wade just a little bit more.

“You got everything locked back up and ready?”

“Yes!” Wade starts to haul ass toward the ladder, but skids to a stop at the sight of Peter’s pants and underwear joining their brethren on the bottom floor.

There’s a few quiet clicks as Wade climbs the ladder and then he’s in full view. Where there would be a smooth slate over the pubis, Wade has a round opening, just a few inches deep, but with several types of plugs inside. 

Peter sits nude on top of the silk sheets, legs sprawled in invitation as he grips onto the top of the headboard. Wade doesn’t need to breathe, but his cooling system kicks up with a plaintive noise.

“Lube and dick, then you can get on the bed,” Peter levels something like a glare at Wade. It isn’t until this relationship that Peter ever thought he would play a firmer hand when it came to sex, but Wade has shown him all sorts of new things.

The nightstand has a drawer dedicated to Wade’s original, which he pulls out now. The cock is certainly not average, but it fits Wade perfectly. The “skin” of it is stainless steel, every inch separated by an indent so that it can bend. Wade groans when it clicks into place, the member immediately beginning to curve toward his abdomen.

Wade hurriedly pulls out a small container of Boy Butter and begins to coat himself. Peter watches carefully as Wade’s strokes himself from root to tip. He clenches his muscles in anticipation, already widening his legs. 

Wade stops and glances over, sticking out his bottom lip he pleads, “Now, baby boy? Please can I?”

The words coat Peter like honey, sticking to him as he shifts around on the bed. He licks his lips and takes a slow breath. If he doesn’t calm down now he’ll blow his load the second Wade is under him. Because yes, Wade will be writhing on his back by the end of this. 

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, big guy,” Peter pats in front of him and directs Wade to lay accordingly, “You willing to let me ride you?”

Wade hisses out a breath when Peter crawls right over his face to sit on his chest.

“Watch you take my cock and move like you were made to? Yeah, I think I can handle that,” He’s breathy despite the bold words. 

“No need to get cocky,” Peter purrs.

Facing Wade’s lower half, he slowly drags two fingers down the slick shaft, groaning at the familiar feel of cold metal. He only lets a small amount collect in the divets of his fingertips before reaching the hand back in full view of Wade. He lifts himself up on his knees, smiling almost cruelly when a pained moan comes from behind him, and rubs the lube directly on his hole. 

His body sparks, bucking forward with wild sensation despite him barely touching. Heart thumping now, he collects more lube on his other hand, coating three fingers more thoroughly this time. Again, he reaches back, and again a pleading moan, but this time he stops right before touching himself.

Wade must be overstimulated by now. He has stamina like no human ever could, but absolutely zero self-control when it comes to pleasure.

“Wade.” A questioning rumble, “Watch me.”

He twists his head until he can see Wade, and sure enough, his eyes are tightly closed. They flicker open slowly, finding Peter’s face instantly, then drop down to watch his fingers. Peter has heard people call Wade’s eyes creepy or unnerving, but to him they only seem intense. 

Peter watches him as he watches Peter’s middle finger slip inside easily. There are no more moans coming from Wade, only heaving breaths as he tries to manually cool down. The second finger joins the first and Wade unlocks his iron grip from the bedsheets to palm at Peter’s ass. 

The urge to slam himself down on Wade is becoming overwhelming so Peter quickly scissors himself open and slides in the third. The angle is wonky and honestly a bit painful on his wrist but he moves faster and faster in his urge.

“Whoa, baby boy. Slow down a second,” Wade rumbles as he continues to massage Peter open.

“Can’t,” Peter huffs out.

Peter resents the chuckle from behind him, “You can, Spidey.” 

And then another intrusion is poking at his entrance. A single one of Wade’s fingers, dipped in lube when he wasn’t paying attention, reaching farther than his own and pressing against his prostate.

Peter gasps and twitches at the sudden onslaught, his own fingers slowly slipping out as Wade moves his finger over and over again in the same curling motion. 

“Gah, oh, wait! Where are you going?” He whines when Wade pulls out.

“Just readjusting,” he pats Peter’s hip, “turn around, love bug.”

Peter does so with a grimace, not enjoying the empty feeling inside him. He’s tempted to just sit back down right onto Wade’s cock, but Peter knows that his lover would not be happy with that. He patiently waits as Wade puts two fingers in him, calling out his appreciation quite loudly.

“More. Please, Wade! Give me more!” 

Wade’s fingers are much bigger than his own, but he’s also done this enough that he’s confident in his ability to handle it. Wade obliges, slowing down only briefly to slip in his ring finger. Both of them are moaning and calling out in pleasure now. Peter seems to get higher in pitch for every time Wade gets lower. 

For what feels like hours to Peter, Wade thrusts his fingers to the knuckle and curls them until Peter is begging to fuck, be fucked, whatever it is he was supposed to be doing. He can’t remember until Wade pulls his fingers out.

The loss is jarring, making him shiver and sweat as he fights to regain his breath. Wade gives him time, holding him up by his legs so that the heat between them isn’t as scorching. They wait out the clamoring arousal together, letting it drift down to a heady but gentle tide.

When Peter can breathe normally and Wade doesn’t sound like he’s going to spontaneously combust, Peter supports his own weight and moves backward. Hovering over Wade’s cock, he catches him in a deadlock stare as Peter gives him a final stroke. Then, he drops down in a circle.

The rotation of his hips lets the unyielding cock penetrate him carefully, and he slowly slides down. He watches Wade twitch under him like a live wire, his eyes flutter open and close in half measures.

“Peter!” Wade moans into empty air. 

“Shh, shh, I’ve got you.”

Peter rests on Wade’s pelvis, fully seated and in control once more. He waits until Wade is motionless under him, only tossing his head back and forth.

“Hands up on the headboard,” Peter instructs. Wade will feel more secure when he has something to grasp, and Peter won’t be letting him grab him by the hips this time, “That’s good. I’m not going slow, understand?”

“Yes!” Wade says, much too loudly, “Yes, yes, please. Please, Peter? Fuck, please!”

“That’s a good boy,” Peter murmurs as he begins to move, “So polite.”

He repositions his feet so that he’s sitting on the balls of them instead of the back. Ever so carefully he pulls himself up, letting his body move along the counters of Wade’s cock, and the heavy steel warm to his body temperature. He rests for only a second at the head, watching from above as Wade shakes apart underneath him, before finally slamming down.

Wade is practically howling as Peter moves at his own pace. He stutters briefly when he remembers Domino joking about clearing out, but quickly shakes the thought out of his head. It doesn’t matter that Wade sounds like he’s dying as he presses into the headboard until it’s creaking.

“Mine,” Peter huffs out.

Wade cries out and thrusts up in response. Peter snarls at the movement. He had never told Wade not to move, but he had shown him. Now Peter has to show him his punishment.

He reaches back on an upstroke and grips the base of the Wade’s cock. It’s not pliable under his fingers, but edging doesn’t work the same way on Wade anyway. Instead, he simply covers as much as he can and only drops down far enough to touch his hand. It isn’t the same level of satisfying compared to watching Wade be stretched apart under his webs or sit kneeling for hours with his cock unable to fall flaccid, but it isn’t that kind of play tonight. Besides, Peter isn’t all that patient.

He works himself with furrowed brows, hitting his prostate more firmly now. Wade’s hips are still, but he’s beginning to quiet down and his eyes are almost entirely closed as he babbles aloud.

“Wade, my Wade,” Peter feels loopy as he calls out, “I want you. I want…”

He cuts himself off with a gulp. His hand falls away from Wade’s cock and he repositions his feet backwards. Slowly, so achingly slow compared to the brutality that overcame him seconds ago, he slides down. The filling sensation, the texture of him, and then one hard thrust from Wade and they meet in the middle. 

Peter comes with a gasp, finally letting all his noises free as Wade falls silent. Instantly pliant and sleepy, Peter almost falls forward as Wade continues to move inside of him. There’s no come to run down Peter’s legs, not with this toy, but he can feel the release all the same. Wade loosens up completely, his movements becoming eerily human in their fluidity. He finishes by squeezing Peter’s ass together and lifting him off. Peter hums and leans back as Wade lowers him to his side.

The bed shifts under him as Wade, for some unknown reason, decides to move away.

“Is late, c’mon let’s sleep,” he mumbles into the clean, silk pillows, “You need these.”

A soft laugh becomes more distant when Wade moves to the bathroom.

“What do I need, baby boy?”

Peter is starting to drift when he hears the squeaky faucet and water running.

He vaguely remembers the question, “Pillows. Your skin. You need ‘em.”

The water shuts off and Wade walks out, no dick in sight, wiping his hands off on a towel.

“That’s a freaking godsend to clean. Why aren’t there more steel dildos? You remember when we used that one that leaked everywhere in the water? That was such a bitch to clean!”

“Hmph,” Peter grumbles agreeingly.

There’s a beat of silence where Peter is starting to drift again when there’s a cool, dry kiss on his temple. He curls up into the contact despite his body’s protests regarding any sort of movement. 

“You got me those pillows, Petey,” there’s something so soft and shaky in Wade’s voice, but Peter is too tired to pick it out.

“Yeah, stupid cotton. Made your skin itch. Fucking cotton.”

Wade snorts and laughs loudly, to which Peter digs his face back into the pillow and swats blindly at him.

“Okay, okay! Sorry, you get your sleep.” Another kiss, on his jaw this time, “Goodnight, baby boy.”

It’s the last thing Peter hears before sleep takes him.

He dreams of running first. Not scary, or exhilarating, just a normal run through the streets. Maybe he’s jogging. No one pays him any mind as he goes by, though now that he’s looking around him, there’s no one else on the street. He smells something burning up ahead.

He can see a crowd of people now, and the fire is closer, he can smell it. His legs keep moving, but he’s not going anywhere. Someone is calling him from the crowd, and as their voice picks up more people join in calling to him. They’re his neighbors and classmates, teachers, and colleagues, but there are also people he’s never seen. They all know his name, and they scream it as his house burns down. 

He’s in a store, a bookstore or comic shop. Either way, there are rows and rows of the same type of book. He pulls one out to read it, but it doesn’t open. He shrugs, because some books can’t be opened, and moves through the aisle. 

There are stairs in the middle of the store that he keeps going down, and he’s not sure why. But there’s something at the bottom, he knows this. It’s terrifying and angry, like a creature chained down, but Peter is not scared of it.

He reaches the bottom and is surprised at how well lit it is. The people greet him with smiles, and begin to talk to him. It’s soothing for a while, until he smells singed flesh. He remembers running again, and wonders how he could’ve forgotten. His body is so sore from running.

They notice him turning away, and at once offer him a bath, but he’s already clean, only sore. Sore and tired. So, he follows the burning until he reaches another room. When he enters, he knows he’s in the right place, although some shadowed figure keeps telling him he’s trespassing. He ignores it and explores the room and all the interesting pieces strewn about.  
He kisses each one he finds, even the bent rebar and the rusted pulley, and places them back for the shadow to find. It takes a lot of time, he’s not sure how long he’s been down here, but he can no longer find any new pieces. This moment is exciting because now he turns around to face the shadow for the first time, and he sees a man. A man whom he kisses with passion, one chained creature to another.

Peter is in the man’s room on his bed, looking out through the railing of the second story. He can’t see much but he hears the man moving around, even talking to someone.

He realizes his eyes are open, and blinks quickly to rid himself of the dregs of sleep.

“No, no! I told you that wouldn’t work… Yeah, no shit, you think? I haven’t tried it yet. Oh my god, give me like five seconds to type!”

“Wade?” Peter calls over the railing, too tired to lift his head.

“Baby boy!” Wade’s head pops up into view when he stands from the swivel chair, “Sorry, did I wake you?”

Peter lifts himself from his cozy nest and stretches, “No, I don’t think so. What are you doing out of bed?”

“Just working on the encrypt-,” He scowls fiercely, “I am, if you would shut up for five seconds maybe we would’ve gotten somewhere!”

“Ah, White and Yellow bothering you again?”

It wasn’t uncommon for the secondary AI to force Wade up from his slumber. They tended to leave Peter alone nowadays, but the second Wade connected to his computers they bothered him incessantly.

Wade sits back down and draws his knees to his chest, “Yeah. I couldn’t sleep with them yelling at me about the key.”

Typical from White, and Yellow was probably complaining about how useless Wade is. Peter stretches his legs off the side of the bed and slides down until his feet hit the floor. With a shiver, he stands and leans over the railing.

“I’m cold,” he pouts at Wade.

Wade stops looking him up and down long enough to say, “You should get back into bed, then.”

He frowns for real this time, “You’re warmer. Forget the stupid key!”

“But you said…” Wade itches a patch of skin and cocks his head to the side, “Well, when you put it that way. We can wait. He said so!”

“Wade,” Peter interrupts, “Come back to bed, please?”

The blank white eyes flick back up to him. Wade rises from the chair slowly, and unplugs himself from the computer. Peter watches him as he climbs up the ladder, and stands in front.  
“What were you dreaming about?” Wade asks abruptly.

Peter can see the concern in his eyes, and reaches out to soothe him, “I was only dreaming of Aunt May,” he supplies.

“Pete,” he starts, but he doesn’t say anything more. There’s nothing that will put out the fires that ravaged his home, and killed his Aunt. There’s nothing that will make Norman Osborn leave him alone and reverse years of hiding from a false accusation. It hurts, it always does, but the pain that hammers his heart has grown dull, or perhaps his heart has simply grown stronger.

Peter leans forward to kiss him on reflex, although having to look down is odd. Wade sighs into the kiss and runs a hand over Peter’s chest. With their hands intertwined they both walk over to the bed. Letting go to climb in, Peter watches Wade as he awkwardly shuffles under the covers, several inches away. 

“All the way over there?” Peter snarks, reaching for him again to pull him closer.

Wade tucks his head down and scoots toward him. He patiently lets Peter rearrange his limbs until they’re facing each other with Wade resting his head on his palm and his other arm wrapped around Peter’s hips. Peter digs his face into the shallow cave he’s formed from Wade and snuggles against his pec.

“Is this okay?” Wade hushes into the darkness, “I know I’m not really comfy, uh, sorry. I can sleep in my closet.”

“Stay with me,” Peter can barely mumble the words as sleep drags him under.

He falls asleep on silk sheets, because cotton irritates Wade’s skin, listening to the soft vibrations of a cooling fan, and dreams of running.


End file.
